


CharBitch FrankDee MacDennis: The Game to End all Games

by Steerpike_Jennkings



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Background MacDennis, CharDee MacDennis, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29857914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steerpike_Jennkings/pseuds/Steerpike_Jennkings
Summary: Charlie accidentally bets his engagement ring in a game of CharDee MacDennis.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Scientist (It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia)
Kudos: 7





	CharBitch FrankDee MacDennis: The Game to End all Games

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post this after my final chapter of Let the Record Show (You're an Asshole Charlie Kelly) but I am such a slow writer and I want to publish this sooner rather than later. So, minor spoilers for the unpublished chapter of my other CharBitch fic. You have been warned.
> 
> I'm posting this at 2 am so hopefully my previous revisions covered any mistakes, and ao3 didn't mess up my formatting when copying from Docs. I guess I'll find out when I get around to re-reading it this weekend. Sorry in advance.

* * *

Charlie is slumped in his chair, drooling as he struggles to select a card from the box. Doc watches, as best he can, through blurred vision. 

“Charles, _please.”_ Doc shakes his head, trying in vain to will himself sober. “I can’t play anymore. Let’s go home. I’ll buy you a new one, s’ok.”

Charlie shakes his head, finally pulling a card from the stack and holding it up triumphantly. “We’re in too deep man.” He burps, going on to say: “We’re so close. So, so close Doc.”

Doc sighs, turning his head to eye their competitors. Dennis and Dee are sitting at the bar, looking equally as shit-faced. Mac is currently in ‘Jail’, asleep on the floor of the dog cage with remnants of cake flour and egg covering his shirt. Frank is sitting beside the cage, struggling to stay awake to witness the final results. 

“What’s it say?” Charles nearly falls off the stool as he hands the card to Doc. 

It takes him a moment to blink past the blurred lens of his drunkenness and read the horribly scrawled ‘Public Humiliation’ card. “Baby.”

“Fuck,” Charlie drops his head onto the table.

* * *

Dennis can’t help but stare. He knows he’s not the only one who’s noticed. Even Frank is staring unabashedly at Charlie’s hand as he’s sweeping the bar. They’re all staring, because how could they not?

Dee is the first one who speaks, but she doesn’t directly mention it. “So Charlie… what’s up?”

Charlie glances up from his work to discover the entire Gang is watching him with wide eyes. “Nothin’. Why?”

Dee shrinks a little, looking to Mac for help.

“We’re just, uh… hm. Well,” Mac tilts his head and rubs his beer bottle against his temple in thought. “We’re just curious how things are with you and Doc.”

Charlie shrugs nonchalantly, going back to sweeping as he easily says: “Fine, I guess.”

“Fine?” Dee repeats in disbelief.

Dennis tries his luck next. “After the court case, we thought you two were taking things slow.”

“We are.” Charlie gives up sweeping in favor of eyeing the Gang suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

“We could ask you the same thing, buddy.”

* * *

Doc feels a wave of nausea as Dennis and Dee set their concoction on the bar. He’s determined not to throw up, out of fear it will make Charles throw up. They can not afford to lose this round.

His hand is shaking as he takes the baby bottle and turns to Charles perched on the stool beside him. Stripped down to nothing but his boxers and swaying dangerously as he eyes the drink in Doc’s hand. “Perhaps it’s best if you sit in my lap this round.”

Charlie nods as he slides off his stool, Doc struggling to hold him upright before guiding him forward. Charlie doesn’t crawl into Doc’s lap as expected but wraps his arms around Doc’s shoulders in a silent request to be hugged. Doc obliges, struggling to pass off the baby bottle.

“Please, don’t throw up on me.”

Charlie stays quiet, taking his first sip of the ‘formula’ the Reynolds twins created. Immediately he gags, and it takes Doc’s entire willpower not to throw Charles off out of reflex.

“C’mon Charlie,” Dee hisses in cruel pleasure. “Little baby needs his baw-baw!”

Dennis is snickering as he struggles to sit up and watch.

Doc buries his head into Charles’s bare shoulder, rubbing comforting circles over his back. “Please,” he repeats, “don’t throw up on me.”

He can hear Charlie take another sip. Somehow, he’s resilient enough to force its contents down. Trying in desperation to chug it all in a single, frenzied go.

Doc pats his back, trying to encourage him with whispered praises. “Shh. You’re doing great. We’re almost there.”

Charlie finishes it, throwing the bottle to the floor in triumph. He turns his head towards Doc, attempting to steal a victorious kiss. Doc jerks away, gagging at the foul smell of Kirsh, cough syrup, and expired milk. Charlie tries to mutter something, but it’s so garbled Doc can’t understand. 

“Shh,” he reminds. “You’re not allowed to speak. You’re supposed to be a baby, remember?”

Charlie nods weakly. Emitting some sort of gurgle before collapsing back into Doc’s shoulder.

When he glances at the twins, he’s thrilled to see both are scowling. “Dee, I believe it’s your turn.”

* * *

It’s five o’clock when Doc comes home to find Charles waiting on his couch, in hysterics. Doc tries to calm him down as Charles frantically repeats:

“They tricked me! They fucking tricked me, Doc! I had no idea what else to do and they’re serious!”

It took an hour for Charles to properly explain the problem. He’s in tears as he tries to make Doc understand the gravity of the situation. How he and Mac have no chance of winning.

It takes another two hours before Doc can reassure Charles they will go to the bar in the morning, and they will sort it out then. At three in the morning, he’s finally able to coerce Charles into bed. Neither sleep well.

The next morning when Doc and Charlie arrived at the bar, they found the others already setting up. Doc doesn’t hesitate to walk straight up to Dennis and demand it back.

“Woah, no can do Science Bitch. Charlie’s already agreed to the game. There are no take-backs here.”

Doc frowns, arguing: “It’s my ring. I bought it. You have no right to keep it.”

“Actually,” Dee leans across the bar and eyes him smugly, “It’s not yours. You gave that ring to Charlie. And Charlie already wagered it. So now, it’s his game piece. Those are the rules.”

Doc scowls, trying to maintain what little authority he has here. “Then I demand to be allowed to compete on Charlie’s team.”

Dennis clicks his tongue in thought, then scoffs. “Nope. Sorry. We’ve always played two on two. Mac and Charlie, Dee and me. Frank ‘plays’ for their team, but really he just gets drunk and watches.”

Dennis and Dee turn their backs to him, and Charlie runs to the bar to plead: “That’s not fair guys, c’mon! Doc paid for it, you can’t  _ not  _ let him try and win it back! Please!”

“Sure we can, Charlie.”

A sudden, horrible thought settles on Doc as he eyes the game-board. “What if I wager my ring as well?”

The bar goes quiet as the twins turn to stare at Doc in disbelief. 

“Really?” Dee asks, intrigued by the proposition. “Matching rings for the undefeated winners. Sounds pretty nice, Dennis.”

“Doc,” Charlie presses into his side. “Trust me, you don’t want to be a part of this. Mac and I, we’ve never won but at least we have a chance. You’ve never played before!”

Doc ignores him. “I have one condition, though.”

“By all means,” Dennis offers.

“Charlie and I are a team. Mac will have to compete with Frank.”

“Oh no!” It’s the first time Mac’s spoken from the far end of the bar. “If Charlie and Doc get to be a team, then Dennis and I are a team!”

Before Dee can argue, Dennis holds up his hand and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Dee and I are exclusive. The stakes are too high to mess with our record.”

Dee seems genuinely shocked and thrilled by this. “Ha! Twins beat out boyfriends!”

But, Dennis eyes Charlie and Doc for a long stretch before officially deciding: “Alright. You and Charlie can be a team.”

* * *

Dee clears her throat as she reaches into the box of cards. She feels the edges of each one, hesitant to actually select. “Dennis?”

He hums in acknowledgment, but his eyes are exclusively on Charlie and Doc. Watching in vague amusement as Doc gently rocks Charlie in his arms. It’s almost sick how comfortable the two are like this. It’s certainly sick of Dennis to find himself lulled by watching them.

“Dennis,” Dee repeats as she chooses her card. She reads it, then swallows. “Whatever happens, we  _ will  _ always be the number one champions.”

Dennis squints as he turns to look at her. “Dee, you bitch. What did you get?”

Wordlessly she hands it over. 

“Public Humiliation.” Dennis sighs as he reads and re-reads the card. “Tar and feathering.”

Charlie mutters something, suddenly trying to pull away from Doc’s grip. 

“No, no! Charles!” Doc hugs him tighter, struggling to keep a drunken Charlie from getting his way. “Baby, remember?”

Dennis wants to throw up, mistaking the reminder of the challenge for a pet name. “Mac?”

There’s no answer.

“Mac!” He screams, smashing a shot glass on the floor near the dog cage. It does its job, stirring Mac awake from his nap.

“Frank, let him out of there. He needs to get the paint and feathers.”

Without responding, Frank struggles to find the cages lock. After a few tries of giggling the lock, he manages to pop the door open. Mac doesn’t hesitate, carefully crawling across the glittering floor to the official game trunk.

“What am I getting?” he asks, reaching inside and blindly pulling out items. 

“Feathers.” Dennis rubs his eyes as Mac pulls out a crumpled paper bag, looking inside to ensure it was right.

“Paint’s downstairs,” Mac mutters into the bag. 

“Then go get it,” Dennis growls back.

There’s no argument, but Mac struggles to stand. He sways dangerously for a moment, gauging the room before daring to walk. His gaze lands on Charlie stripped to his boxers, leaning his entire weight against Science Bitch. It’s a bizarre, unsettling sight. 

“What’d I miss?”

Charlie attempts to answer, but it’s too slurred to understand.

“He pulled ‘Baby’,” Dee translates. “We gave him a full bottle of Nyquil. I can’t believe he’s still awake.”

Another unintelligible string of sounds escapes Charlie. He jerks his head up to look at Dee, but the movement is too sudden. Doc watches in horror as Charlie’s face drains of all color. He knows what’s coming, but he can’t cast Charles off quick enough.

Before Charlie is a full step away, he leans forward and covers his mouth to stop the flow. But it’s too late. Warm vomit has made its way through Charlie’s fingers, over Doc’s arms, and splattering across the bar floor.

The smell is immediate, and everyone nearly retches in response. 

“Oh, God!” Dee is gagging out of reflex, stumbling off her stool and high-tailing it to the ladies’ room.

Doc doesn’t make it that far. He’s holding Charles up, and his arms are covered in it. He is forced to swallow his own reaction down; blink up at the ceiling and ignore the pain in his gut each time he threatens to follow suit.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie!” Frank hisses from the floor.

“Doc?” Charlie’s voice is painful, and Doc can’t even look at him. He wants to, but he knows he physically can’t do it. 

“It’s alright,” Doc insists. It’s not. It is absolutely  _ not alright.  _ His arms are shaking as Charles pulls away, but he keeps them extended. Coated in hot chunks of whatever Charles ate yesterday and a gallon of alcohol, with some Nyquil and expired milk mixed in there as well. He’s afraid to look, so he simply decides it’s best to keep his arms (and the smell) as far away from his person as possible.

Charlie looks down at the floor and groans: “I feel better.”

“We should take a five-minute break,” Mac suggests.

Doc nods frantically. Unable to speak out of fear that the mere act of opening his mouth will only worsen the problem.

Charlie is nodding too. “I’ll clean this up, don’ worry guys.” He still sounds drunk, and Doc isn’t sure how that’s possible. They can see and smell all the alcohol Charles drank on the floor before them. If anything, he should be sober.

But Doc is drunk too. Despite his Ph.D. in biology, he can’t remember the science. Something about blood-alcohol content, or maybe chemistry. He doesn’t even care, because he’s already standing and walking towards the bathroom with his arms outstretched like a mummy. Trying to hold his breath as the smell wafts towards him with each hurried step.

* * *

The sound of soft instrumental music plays as the six players gather in front of the bar. As Dennis pours the wine, Mac carries a plate of horderves to each guest. It’s all very formally informal with the members of the Gang making polite conversation. A rarity, Doc suspects.

“Good day, sir.”

“A very good day, madam.” Mac holds out the platter, Dee helping herself to a fist full of oyster crackers and stuffing them into her bra. 

“Sir?” Mac turns to Charlie, who helps himself to a fistful of cheese cubes. Like Dee, he is quick to fill his pockets.

Doc watches from his perch on a barstool, trying to speed-read the rule book to resolve his many questions regarding the game. But none of it is coherent, and there seems to be no other goal than drunkenness and injury. 

“Good sir!” Dennis offers a glass to Doc, holding his own up for a toast. “To a good game, sir.”

There is a brief, fleeting moment where Doc hopes this game won’t be as bad as Charles has described. But, it’s a hope that must be snuffed. After all, he’s let his guard down around Dennis before. It will never happen again. 

“And to you.” They clink glasses, and the others around the room do the same.

“Gentleman,” Dennis announces with a flourish of his free hand. “Suck my dick!”

The others chug their wine, Charlie the first to finish and smashing his glass victoriously on the ground. Soon after, the others join. One by one smashing their own glasses and devolving into fits of screaming that leaves Doc with an immediate headache. He gulps down his wine in a feeble attempt to soothe it.

Charlie is jumping up and down atop the shards of glass, hissing at Dee as she screams in his face. Dennis, Mac, and Frank are all pounding their chests and hollering. Doc remains on his stool, rubbing his temple as he finishes the glass. He hesitates, then does as the rules require; smashing the wine glass on the glittering floor.

* * *

When Doc returns, the game is resumed. The first order of business? Punishment.

“According to the rules, vomiting is to be punished. Any player who vomits from alcohol consumption must consume a greater volume of that which was expelled from his/her body. Exceptions are made when the purpose of the activity is to vomit.” Doc sighs as he shuts the rule book, eyeing Charles with a look conveying pity and betrayal. “Good Lord, you’re going to die.”

Charlie shakes his head, forcing a smile as Dennis selects the bottles. Nobody is sure how much alcohol was consumed over the last three rounds. Especially since Charles, who can seriously hold his liquor, drank half of Doc’s the first round. Negotiations were made, and Dennis, Mac, Frank, and Doc agreed both Dee and Charlie will share the same punishment.

“I’m nah’ gonna  _ die,”  _ Charlie insists. “I jus’ migh’ pass out. But I’m nah’ gonna  _ die!”  _ He’s laughing as he sounds the word out in his mouth. Repeating it again:  _ “Die!” _

Doc only shakes his head as he watches Dennis place the bottles in their hands. Dee, still pale, can’t even twist hers open. “Dennis,” she whines. “Dennis, please open this.”

He sighs, taking it as a personal inconvenience. “This is your own fault! Picking that card, then throwing up! What is wrong with you today? You’re better than this!”

Dee frowns, yanking the bottle back from his grip. “I want that ring, Dennis.”

Dennis leans down to her height, placing a firm grip on her shoulder. “Then do us both a favor and fucking chug!”

“Yeah.” Something in her resolves, and Dee nods. She twists off the cap, then takes a deep breath.

Charles, on the other hand, is still laughing as he struggles with the cap. “I’m nah’ gonna die.”

They start at the same time by chance, but Charles doesn’t even blink as the golden liquid quickly disappears. Doc isn’t sure what he’s feeling as he watches. On the one hand, he is seriously concerned for Charles's health. He could actually die. No, really. Chugging an entire bottle of Jack Daniels in one go, after hours of getting shit faced, can easily kill a man twice the size of Charles. 

But, on the other hand, it’s fucking hot.

Charlie finishes with a burp and a dangerous sway. He holds the bottle up triumphantly, and Doc can’t help himself.

He lunges forward to catch him, and in the process manages to catch his lips for a brief kiss. Charlie hums in approval, trying desperately to return their mouths. But it’s all Doc is willing to give; the smell of Charles’s breath is enough to turn Doc off for weeks.

“Gross,” Dee mutters beside them. Her face is red and wet, having struggled to down her bottle quicker.

There’s a moment of hesitancy as the group waits to see if one or both will drop dead. Dee sways, blinks, then shrugs. “I feel fine.”

“What about you Charlie?” Mac asks from behind the bar, phone in his hand and ready to call 911 at any moment. 

Charlie scoffs, giving a thumbs-up as he grips Doc’s shirt for balance. “I’m great. Besides, we already have a doctor.”

Doc giggles, petting Charles’s hair roughly. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Psh,” Charlie waves his hand away. “Close enough.”

The Gang, satisfied no one is dead, resumes the game. Upon Doc’s insistence, Mac is left trying to sober up with a pitcher of water. Frank and he have forfeited, their team still languishing in level two. 

A compromise was agreed upon. Allowing Team Man-Cheetah to drop out of the game with the condition Mac babysits the two drunkest players of the remaining teams. In return, Mac doesn’t have to return to Jail. He takes the job seriously, keeping his phone in sight with the numbers already dialed. Apparently, nobody has ever thrown up in Level 3, and nobody has ever chugged a bottle of hard liquor for the game. 

It takes some coaxing to get Dee to stand up and strip for her Public Humiliation card. She is too drunk to manage the buttons on her jeans, teetering dangerously on shattered glass in open-toed heels. Doc, being the only member of the opposition capable of standing, was left with the challenge of helping her. 

“Hold still,” he mutters as he struggles to help her out of her t-shirt. Her bony arms flail helplessly over her head, before escaping the cotton fabric.

“Yuck,” Mac comments from the barstool, and Charlie nods lazily beside him. Glossy eyes admiring the details of her bra and crackers stuffed inside. 

Dee scowls, struggling with her jeans before Doc can stop her. “Assholes.”

“Dee, your shoes,” Doc reminds. When she tries kicking them off he grips her arms to stop her. “The glass!”

_ “The glass!” _ She mocks back, pushing him off. But, she heeds the warning and stumbles towards Paddy’s front door where the floor isn’t sparkling with thousands of tiny shards. 

She kicks off her heels, then leans against the wall to steady herself. “I shouldn’t have worn these jeans today.”

“They make you look fat,” Dennis adds needlessly.

“Especially your ass,” Charlie mutters from his stool. His eyes traveling over said ass. 

“Charles!” Doc scolds.

Charlie only smiled, then broke into laughter. “Nah’ in a bad way though!”

“Believe me, I got your meaning.” 

“Really?” Dee asks, unusually vulnerable as she rubs a hand over her hip.

Charlie grins for a moment, but upon gauging the looks of the other men in the room, particularly his boyfriend, he backtracks. “No. Very fat. Bad kind of fat. Like a, uh, like a turkey.”

A heel flies towards the bar and Charlie ducks, though it comes nowhere near him. 

“I need help,” Dee whines as she fights with the buttons of her jeans. “Who designed these things? Whatever happened to zippers?”

No one volunteers, and Doc sighs. 

“Move your hands,” he orders as he navigates through the shards of glass on the floor.

Dee complies, too eager as his hands' struggle with the buttons. “I thought you were gay?” She slurs. 

Doc nods, blush creeping over his ears as Dee wraps her arms around his neck. The top of her breasts brushing the tip of his nose. He shakes her off. “I am.”

“Hm.” She scowls and pushes her hips out, giving him better access to her pants. “Charlie’s not.”

“No,” Doc agrees. As he works, a realization dawns on him. Implication laden in the tone of her voice. He finishes undoing the last button of the fly, glancing at Charles. 

He’s watching Dee from across the bar. Eagerly taking her in. She’s looking back at him, smugness etched into her features. A look recognizable to Doc because he’s seen it before, on her brother. 

Doc grips the waist of her jeans, pulling them down roughly and catching Dee off guard. “You know,” he whispers quietly as he lowers himself, shimmying the fabric down her thighs. “I wouldn’t piss me off. You saw what happened to Dennis.”

Dee scoffs as she steps out of her pant legs. “So Charlie can fuck around with the Waitress, but not me?”

When Doc stands, he leans in and keeps his voice low: “She’s not presumptuous about our bed, and I like her. You?”

Dee’s eyes narrow as he thrusts her wadded jeans against her chest. “Not so much.”

Before she has the opportunity to respond, Doc cuts her off: “Frank? Do you have the paint?”

“Right here, Science Bitch.”

Doc doesn’t turn around. Keeping an even glare with Dee as Frank shuffles through the broken glass. 

“Charlie’s got the feathers,” he notes as he hands over the stained can and a collection of paintbrushes.

“Would you like to help?”

“I’d love to!” The gruff man seems genuinely thrilled by the idea.

If someone told Doc six months ago he would be tarring and feathering a woman, he would have thought they were insane. Doc would be certain he would never participate in such a barbaric act. Disgusted that someone had the nerve to suggest otherwise. 

But, times were changing. Doc was determined to win. Not just for their rings. As much as his wallet hurt knowing the twins would be wearing them around as trinkets, it wasn’t the reason he was willing to degrade himself. To lower his moral compass. 

It wasn’t for Charles, either. If Doc was honest, he was resentful Charlie got them into this mess in the first place. He understood and empathized with the fact Charles could be naive. But, after the vomiting and leering, he was less sympathetic.

No. Doc realized after the first card was drawn he was playing for keeps. To establish himself as an equal amongst this filthy bunch, utterly ridiculous as it might sound. To ensure they would stop meddling in his relationship. To prove that, yes, Charles did deserve him. 

As he and Frank painted Dee with black house paint, Doc struggles to repress his smugness. They might actually win this thing. The cards are stacked against them, and the twins are relentless, but they’ve come this far. Charles and Doc are still standing (figuratively). 

“Charles,” Doc calls.

“Hmm?”

“You can start adding the feathers.”

Charlie stumbles to his feet, Mac helping substantially. The two make their way over and grin at Dee, covered head to toe in thick black paint. Like a swamp creature, lingering in the doorway of Paddy’s Pub. 

The four get to work attaching feathers, ensuring no space went uncovered. Throughout it all, Dee remains resilient. The bottle of Jack Daniels no doubt having relaxed her to the point of indifference. 

When they’re all out of feathers, the four step back and laugh. Dee, no longer recognizable, looking like a giant bird-creature. Mac and Charlie are in tears, and Frank and Doc grin at their handiwork.

“Just hand over the damn card,” she demands. 

“Uh sure.” Charlie turns to Mac, the two sharing a mischievous look that Dee somehow misses in her drunkenness. “The card goes to team Golden Geese.”

He stumbles towards Dennis and slides the card against the bar. “Congratulations,” Charlie grins as Dennis struggles to pull the card from beneath his fingers. 

As Dee watches, Mac takes a step closer to her.

“Come on guys.” Dee wipes away paint that is trickling dangerously close to her eyes. “I won the card.”

“Oh, you did.” Mac steps beside Dee and smiles sweetly. “You did. And now, Dennis doesn’t need you to win the game.”

“Excuse me?” Dee blinks at Mac, mind struggling to catch up. “I won. We’re gonna beat Charlie and Science Bitch, no problem.”

“Oh, I believe you.” Mac looks proudly at Dennis, who is also struggling to make sense of the conversation. “But all that matters now is if Dennis wins another card. Right Dennis?”

“Well,” Dennis eyes his sister with pity. “You’re not wrong.”

“Great.” Mac turns back to Dee, and realization settles. She tries to bolt, but Mac catches her by her slippy waist. 

Despite her kicking and screaming, Mac was just too quick and too strong. He shoves her out the front door, locking it behind her tail feathers. 

“Hey!” Dee pounds against the door. “Oh, you— you assholes! You fucking assholes! Let me in!”

“Back door locked?” Dennis asks casually.

“On it,” Mac assures as he jogs to the back with a trail of feathers falling from his shirt. 

Charlie releases the card, and Dennis holds it up in victory. “Neck and neck.”

“Neck n’ Neck,” Charlie slurs back. 

“Charles, sit down.” As Doc returns he gently guides Charlie to a nearby stool.

“Jus’ you and me,” Dennis cooes. His blue eyes are hollow looking through Doc. Somehow, still assured of his victory. 

Doc doesn’t even look as he selects a card. There’s no point. It’s all chance at this point. He studies it, frowns, then reads it aloud: “Emotional Battery: Opponents Choice.”

* * *

Round one went as well as expected; a colossal failure. Doc struggled with the trivia, making Team Newton's Law fall behind even Frank and Mac. Thankfully, Charles had the foresight to keep Doc as sober as possible.

“There’s no rule saying he can’t drink for both of us.” Doc sets the binder in the center of the table, offering anyone the chance to prove him wrong. 

“What?!” Dee and Dennis grapple for the book. Skimming its pages in an attempt to find a rule Doc ensured did not exist. 

Charlie beams, downing the glasses of wine without hesitation. 

“I can’t believe it!” Dennis fumes as he thrusts the rule book into Dee’s hands. “It’s still against the rules!”

“Not according to your rule book,” Doc quips back. 

So, he and Charlie played that strategy as they struggled through trivia cards. Charlie taking every losing glass of wine for Doc. 

Trivia like: “What Philly celebrity would you most want to have a drink with?” ( _ Answer:  _ ~~_ Bill Cosby _ ~~ __ _ Will Smith) _ are impossible for a newbie. An immediate disadvantage for Doc and Charlie. However, by having Charlie drink for both of them whenever pulling a trivia, they managed. 

It also helped that by some stroke of dumb luck, they pulled mostly Artistry and All Play. Something they excelled in. Charlie was a good artist, and they knew each other well enough for charades, drawing games, and partner-themed questions.

By Level 3, Mac had pulled a chance card and was languishing in Jail. Frank and him already three sheets to the wind from constantly losing challenges and with each card falling further behind. Which was a shame, because their team was excelling in the physical challenges. Well, Mac was. 

The most push-ups? Mac.

Fastest runner? Mac.

The person capable of the longest kegstand (and unlike Charlie and Dennis, needed no help from his teammate?) Also Mac.

Doc was disappointed when he pulled Jail. Not because he wanted their team to win, but because Doc genuinely liked Mac. Unlike the rest of the Gang, who he merely tolerated. It also helped that Mac was a very physically attractive man. Doc liked staring at his arms more than he would ever admit, especially to Charles. Or Dennis, for that matter.

But, Charlie and Doc managed to make their comeback in Level 2. The David Blaine Challenge was the real turning point, with Charlie taking the win easily. Doc even managed to win Dizzy Bat. Together, they followed Dee and Dennis into Level 3. The taste of victory and beer fresh on their tongues.

* * *

Doc places the card between himself and Dennis. Neither speaks, but Dennis is grinning.

_ Emotional Battery: Opponents Choice. _

Doc frowns as he blinks up at Dennis, waiting. His suspicion is that Dennis will try his best to crack him. But, Doc knows he can withstand whatever Dennis has to say. After all, very little phases him. 

“Well?” He asks.

“I pick Charlie.”

A terrible choice. Doc turns his head to examine Charles, slumped three stools down. He’s back to drooling, and the bottle of Jack Daniels is clearly catching up with him. “I don’t think he can even form a coherent sentence,” Doc muses. 

“No,” Dennis waves his hand. “You misunderstand. I want you to berate Charlie for...oh, five minutes? He has to cry in the first minute though. If he doesn’t cry, or you don’t go on for the full time, we win.”

Doc’s heart sinks as he looks at the card, then Dennis.  _ They are so close.  _ They only need one more card. But... Charles. 

Charles has never said an unkind word to him. Ok, that may be a bit of a stretch. Like most, they’ve had the occasional frustration and disagreements. Charles, at his worst, might call Doc one of two vulgarities: bitch or bastard. Never anything personal or cruel. Doc has had his fair share of cruelty from men like Dennis Reynolds to know that Charles doesn’t have the stomach for it. At least, not when it comes to the people he loves.

But that’s exactly what Dennis is betting on. That Doc will throw in the towel now, or severely hurt Charles. Either way, Dennis wins. 

“Tik, tok.” Dennis grins wickedly. It’s all or nothing at this point, and Doc knows he will regret this.

“Mac?”

Mac, who was listening at the back door to ensure Dee was still hollering to be let in (and wasn’t dead in the alley), glanced at the two remaining players. “What’s up?”

“We need you to keep time.”

“Alright. Frank?”

“Hm?”

“Do me a favor and make sure Dee doesn’t die.”

Frank grumbles but waddles to a booth near the back. Close enough to witness Doc’s challenge, but still capable of hearing Dee’s reassuring screams. Doc suspects it’s a bad decision to leave him in charge of Dee’s wellbeing. Yet, he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s preparing to emotionally destroy the man he loves. All for their stupid fucking not-engagement rings.

Mac has the timer in his hand, and Doc positions himself in front of Charles. He thinks about what he’s going to say and takes a steadying breath. Charles looks up from his slump and smiles sweetly. “Did we win?”

He’s raw, and vulnerable, and so fucking drunk Doc prays he won’t remember this. He glances at Mac and Dennis down the bar. Giving a nod to start the timer. 

* * *

As Doc pulls the little box from his coat, his hands are shaking. _ It’s the cold air _ , he assures himself. After all, this isn’t a proposal.

But it also kind of is.

Doc isn’t actually sure  _ what  _ it is.

Charles is standing across from him, busy trying to read the menu above the kiosk. It’s probably the worst place on earth to do this.  _ But,  _ he reminds himself,  _ this isn’t a proposal. _

“Charles?”

“Hmm?” Charlie squints at the lettering very seriously. “Why would they serve pelican?”

“What?” Doc asks breathlessly.

“Who would order pelican? Doesn't even sound good.”

Doc studies the menu, but can’t fathom where Charles got the word ‘pelican’ from. Perhaps pecan? Strangely, it eases his nerves.

“Charles,” he tries again. 

And this time, Charlie looks over at him with a soft smile. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking about what you asked me during the trial.”

“What?”

Doc stammers, trying to collect his thoughts properly. “The trial, Charles. You asked if… well, if I… hm.”

“If we could get married? Yeah? What about it?”

Doc purses his lips, angry with his own inability to convey the gravity of this discussion. “I said no.”

“Yeah?” Charlie scoffs, looking back at the menu. “I remember. What do you want?”

_ What did he want? What exactly did he fucking want?! _

“Nothing. Well, something.” Doc turns the velvet box over in his hands, unable to just hand it over.

“Well, which is it? I’m starving.” Charlie scratches his beard as he studies Doc. “You feel alright? You’re not gonna, like, throw up in the car are you?”

“No.” Doc steps forward and takes Charlie’s hand. Gently placing the little box in his palm. Ensuring Charles doesn’t misinterpret, he firmly states: “This isn’t a proposal.”

Charlie’s brow knits as he opens the box, then his eyes go wide. “Holy shit!”

“It’s not—”  _ It is! Just say it is!  _ “It’s not an engagement ring. But, I wanted to get you one. A ring, I mean.”

“So…” Charlie looks around the mall. Unsure if he’s actually awake or this is some weird dream. “You still don’t want to get married?”

“Yes.”

“But you bought me a ring?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not an engagement ring?”

“Well…” Doc shuts the box for Charlie. Desperately wishing he’d left it at home. “It’s not  _ not  _ an engagement ring. I also bought one for myself. I thought we could wear them...together.”

“Like we’re married? But not?”

“Yes.”

Charlie frowns, and Doc hates himself for having brought it up. For having purchased them weeks ago. Regretting ever thinking Charles would be mad enough to say yes. To expect such a serious commitment from such an outrageous, spectacular man.

“I do love you, Charles. It’s just… hard. I want to be with you. Possibly the rest of our lives.”

“That’s called getting married.”

Now Doc is the one frowning. “I know. But I don’t know if I want that.”

He’s not sure if Charles actually wants that either, or is just caught up in the  _ idea  _ of being married.

“Okay.” Charlie opens the box again, plucking the ring from its velvet cushion and slipping it onto his finger. “Not a proposal. Just two cool dudes with matching rings.”

Doc sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

* * *

Charles looks up from his slump and smiles sweetly. “Did we win?”

Doc nods at the others, Charlie struggling to follow the signal.  _ What was going on? _

Doc is trying to prop Charlie up. Forcing him to look into Doc’s eyes. They’re narrowed, and angry. And Charlie can’t fathom why. “You fucking idiot. Of course we didn’t win!”

Charlie stammers, trying to look at Dennis and Mac across the room.  _ Where was Dee? Or Frank? Why was Doc mad at him, of all people? _

Something sharp hits his cheek, snapping him awake even more. Did Doc… did Doc just smack him?

“I can’t believe I gave you that ring. Do you see what you’ve done Charles?”

Charlie shakes his head weakly. 

“You’ve ruined our relationship! How can I ever trust you again if you can’t even manage to keep the one thing that represents  _ us _ safe!”

Charlie can’t believe his ears. He tries to wiggle free, but Doc grips his shoulders to hold him firm. “Look at me!”

Charlie does as told, struggling to find Doc’s cold eyes through his blurred vision. He’s babbling, wet tears streaming down his face as he tries to apologize. Repeating: “I’m sorry, Doc!” over and over again.

Thankfully, Charlie doesn’t notice his hesitation. Doc swallows his guilt and perseveres. He’s overcome the first hurdle: making Charles cry in less than one minute. Only four minutes and forty-five seconds left to go. Maybe Charles will be so distraught in his crying, he won’t hear the rest.

“You are such a disappointment. If I’d known all those months ago what a fucking loser you were— well, we certainly wouldn’t be here! After your little stint at the trial, I thought you were just loony. Now I realize you’re mentally stunted. I buy you a beautiful ring, and you simply give it away! Does our relationship mean nothing to you, Charles?”

He glances at Mac, who holds up four fingers. Doc sets his jaw and shakes Charlie again. 

Charlie is gripping Doc’s shirt to keep him from leaving. He shakes his head, managing to sob: “N—no…”

“Well, it doesn’t mean jack-shit to me. Especially after this! Really, Charles? Do you actually think I’m in love with you?”

Another sobbed answer: “Y—yes?”

Doc scoffs, cruelly shoving away Charles’s hands. “Stop it.”

Charlie reluctantly let go, wrapping his arms around his bare chest in an attempt to hug himself. A feeble attempt to self-comfort. Doc wishes he could wrap him up in his arms and apologize. That he could stop this now. That he never agreed to this game. He loathes himself for being able to even think these things, let alone say them Charlie’s face.

“Will you stop your babbling? Really, you’re like a child! Why would I want to date someone like that, hm? Someone who cries over nothing. You’re positively useless, except for the occasional fuck.”

Three fingers.

“I can’t believe you’d behave like this. After all I’ve done for you? Charles, I am the only reason you’re worth keeping around. Your friends clearly despise you. And who wouldn’t? You’re disgusting! I can never forgive you for throwing up on me. You realize that, don’t you?”

Two fingers. 

“And Jesus, hitting on Dee right in front of me? That’s how low your taste in women is? First the Waitress, now another Reynolds? Why don’t you sleep with Frank just to round it out, hm? You’re such a creep you probably already have.”

He glances at Mac again, a single finger left.

“Didn’t your mother try and abort you?”

Charlie is now fighting him off. Struggling in his drunken hysterics to push Doc away.

“She must have known you were fucked up, even in the womb. Probably would have been for the best. At least you wouldn’t be in my life now. Maybe someone like Mac, or Dennis could be fucking me. Hm? At least they know how to keep a ring on their damn finger!”

“Time...” Mac announces, but there is no victory in it. 

Dennis is staring in awe as Doc struggles to calm Charlie down. “It’s alright! Charles, it's alright! It was for the game!”

To help, Mac hands the card to Doc. 

“See? See Charles? It was for the card! We could actually win!”

But Charlie is inconsolable. Struggling to fight Doc’s comforting, unwelcome arms away. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

With that, Doc releases him. The room becomes still as Charlie stumbles towards the bathroom. His sobs and Dee’s screaming the only sounds for a long stretch.

Mac is the first to speak: “That was too much, bro.”

Dennis watches as Mac follows Charlie into the bathroom, then smiles faintly as he realizes the game is nearly over. Doc, an emotional shell, is still hovering over Charlie’s stool. It’s down to him. Dennis doesn’t wait, selecting a final card from the box. 

* * *

Dennis tries his luck next. “After the court case, we thought you two were taking things slow.”

“We are.” Charlie gives up sweeping in favor of eyeing the Gang suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

“We could ask you the same thing, buddy.”

Charlie frowns and leans on his broom, scrutinizing the Gang. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Everybody hesitates, then Frank finally speaks up: “What’s with the ring? You two getting hitched?”

“Oh!” Charlie laughs as he eyes the gold band. “No, it was just a gift.”

The Gang released a unanimous breath, relieved to hear it wasn’t  _ actually  _ an engagement ring. 

“Well, that’s good,” Dennis mutters to the other three. 

“Yeah, Doc isn’t sure if he ever wants to get married.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a bummer.” The others have already turned their backs to Charlie to discuss their latest scheme.

“He said it’s not an engagement ring, but it’s also not  _ not  _ an engagement ring.”

The Gang froze, glancing at one another before all turning around again. The four have all gone pale; While Dee and Mac look on in horror, Dennis and Frank share a grim expression.

Hesitantly, Dennis repeats: “Not  _ not  _ an engagement ring?” 

“What the hell does that even mean?” Dee asks.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. Too many eyes all on him. More specifically, his hand. “Well, like, an engagement ring... but not.”

Mac is in such a state of shock he has to set his beer down. “You can’t get married, Charlie! It's wrong!”

The other three all turn to look at Mac in disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Dennis asks, insulted and a little concerned. After all, the two of them have been screwing each other daily since their erotic encounter at City Hall. If Mac was slipping back into the closet, Dennis would lose his sanity. Not that he would actually care about Mac, or whatever. It would just be… a massive waste of time and energy, all for two months of fun. Yeah, that’s why it bothered him. Sure.

“Well,” Mac’s attention wasn’t fully on Dennis. “It’s not wrong to be gay, but marriage is purely a heterosexual concept. It’s an outdated form of ownership, designed by the patriarchy. If you conform to the societal construct of marriage, you’re ignoring God’s actual design of marriage being, like, a devotion of two people. And such an archaic practice belongs in a bygone era.”

The rest of the Gang gaped at Mac.

“That’s…” Dennis isn’t sure what to call it. Incredibly convenient? He certainly never wanted to marry Mac, let alone anyone else. And Dennis feared after finding out Charlie was getting hitched, Mac would be dropping hints to Dennis to do the same. Great. One less thing to worry about in their tenuous relationship. But, it was possibly the most articulate and intelligent thing Mac has ever said. Meaning Dennis instinctively wanted to argue against that view, even if he agreed. It was a confusing turn-on.

“That’s bullshit.” Dee took a swig of her beer and returned to scrutinizing Charlie. “Sounds like Doc doesn’t actually want to marry you.”

“Well he does, just not yet. The ring is so we will. Someday.”

“So you are engaged?” Frank squints. He’s trying to appraise the thing from a distance. It’s a simple gold band but would still make good cash at a pawn shop. If things don’t work out with Science Bitch, Frank could easily make a few hundred bucks off of it. 

“No!” Charlie frowns at the Gang, growing frustrated with their lack of understanding or support. “We aren't engaged! It’s just a ring that represents our love and the possibility that we might be married someday!”

“That’s an engagement ring,” Dennis clarified, looking around at the others for support. They all nodded in agreement. 

“You guys just aren’t getting it!” Charlie growls, throwing his broom onto the floor. “I can’t explain it, okay? But it’s not an engagement ring! Doc says it’s just a matching ring for two guys in love.”

_ “Matching?!” _ Frank, Dennis, Mac, and Dee all repeat. 

Dennis can’t help it. He snickers as he sips his beer and says: “Dude, you guys are totally engaged.”

Charlie’s eyes widen as he looks past his friends. Somewhere far into the distance as he tries to interpret this. “No…”

“Charlie.” Mac is the only one who seems outwardly concerned by Charlie’s reaction. “I think Science Bitch proposed to you.”

“But he said–” Charlie holds his hand out in horror. “We’re not– it wasn’t even a proposal! It was at the mall and— and—“

“The mall?” Dee repeated with a scoff. 

Charlie nods desperately, hoping that proves they’re wrong. That somehow the mall was the key to this entire issue. “Yeah, at the food court!”

Everyone cringes, Dennis is the first to comment: “That’s just sad.”

But Charlie is still stammering. Trying to rationalize what has just dawned on him; Doc  _ was  _ proposing. He said he wasn’t, but the Gang was right. How can two dudes have matching rings that represent a lifetime commitment to one another, and not call that marriage? Or at the bare minimum an engagement?

“Holy shit…  _ Holy shit guys!  _ I think I might be engaged?!  _ Holy fucking shit!” _

The other four watch in amusement as Charlie paces the bar, hysterical as he struggles to cope with this revelation. He’s deteriorated into a blathering mess, repeating the same three phrases over and over; “Holy shit!”, “It can’t be— we’re just—”, and “What am I going to do?”

Finally taking pity on him, Dennis suggests: “You could get rid of it.”

“What?” Charlie is still pacing, sparing only a brief glance at Dennis as he passes by.

“Yeah,” Dee chimes in. “Just take it off and make him propose to you for real next time. Somewhere other than the mall’s food court.”

Charlie doesn’t stop pacing but, he does consider Dee’s suggestion. Frowning at his hand. “Yeah… Yeah… Maybe.”

“Listen, Charlie.” Mac stands to retrieve everyone fresh beers from behind the bar. “You don’t want to be married. Look at Dennis. He’s stuck paying alimony to some bitch who’s trying to become a cat. Frank’s wife had two bastard children and never told him—”

All three Reynolds’ turned to glare at Mac for daring to bring up the touchy subject.

“—and my parents. Well, my parents are happy but I think that has a lot to do with their laid-back attitudes.”

“It had a lot to do with the fact your dad spent most of their marriage in prison!” Dennis snaps. “And I would hardly call your parents the epitome of a good marriage.”

Mac glared back at Dennis as he opened a bottle, handing it over with a perturbed: “My parents are very much in love.”

That comment alone resolves Charlie. He stops, pulls the ring off, and drops it on the bar as though it were suddenly cursed. “You’re right! I can’t wear this!”

The Gang all shrug and return to their previous discussion of liquor licensing and potential loopholes. Nonchalant about their part in convincing Charlie to break off his not  _ not  _ engagement. It was for the benefit of Paddy’s delicate ecosystem. After all, what the hell did Charlie need to get married for? Nobody else in the Gang was married, and they were just fine. A marriage would throw a wrench into their long-trodden dynamic. More so than Charlie fucking around with Science Bitch. Even more than Dennis and Mac fucking around with Charlie and Science Bitch. It simply wasn’t in the cards to allow Charlie to consider such a possibility, and the discourse could die here. Four against one, now five against none.

As the hours slipped by in the empty bar, boredom began to creep amongst the quintet. Dee, who sat beside Charlie and his abandoned gold ring, began to formulate a plan. It wasn’t fair that Charlie was proposed to before her. She was the hottest one out of the Gang and the only woman. She should be the one showing off a glittering engagement ring. Not their dirtgrub janitor. Plus, what did Charlie need a ring for? Surely Science Bitch realized it would eventually be lost in the sewers, accidentally swallowed, or simply stolen by Frank? What a waste of an expensive, albeit boring, hunk of jewelry. And it would be better off with someone who deserved it. 

“You know, we haven’t played CharDee MacDennis in awhile.”

The others looked up at her interruption in annoyance.

“Dee, we’re right in the middle of something,” Dennis scoffed and returned to arguing with Mac about some stupid detail of their already overly complicated plan.

That didn’t stop her though. She turned to study Charlie on the stool beside her. Three beers in, he was desperate to drown out all thoughts concerning Doc. He wasn’t tipsy but could be soon. “You want another drink, Charlie?”

Under normal circumstances, Charlie would recognize this was out of character for Dee. Giving a shit about Charlie generally wasn’t her thing. But Charlie couldn’t say no to the offer of more alcohol, no matter the source. More alcohol meant fewer worries.

“You look like you could use something stronger than beer.”

He eagerly nods, watching as Dee circles the bar to retrieve shot glasses and something harder. 

Dennis, Mac, and Frank haven’t caught on to her plan. They don’t even notice that Charlie is three shots of tequila deep until Dee loudly proclaims: “You need to take your mind off Science Bitch for a few days. We could do something tomorrow. The whole Gang. What do you say?”

“Yeah,” Charlie hissed after he downs another shot. “Yeah, you’re right. I need to jus’ take a break. Think about it some more…”

Dee tries to smile reassuringly, but to the rest of the Gang it is clear she is simply luring bait. A spider knitting a pretty web. “Absolutely. What about CharDee MacDennis? We haven’t played that in a while?”

“Psh,” Charlie sticks his tongue out in disgust, either from the idea or the tequila. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon,” she pushes. Dee glances to Dennis, damn near begging for him to help her out.

It takes him a moment to catch on. Charlie is drunk, and Dee is eyeing his hands hungrily. The little gold ring being rolled under the tips of his fingers as he thinks.

“You know what we haven’t played in forever?” Dennis asks, gaining everyone’s undivided attention. “CharDee MacDennis.”

“Hey!” Charlie’s smile is a little slow but genuinely bright in its reaction. “I love that game!”

“That’s a great idea,” Mac adds enthusiastically.

“Oh, darn!” They all look back at Dee, who quickly explains: “Charlie’s game piece was so mangled last time we ended up throwing it out. Remember?”

Dennis nods, but Charlie shakes his head. “No, we didn’t…”

“Yeah, buddy. We did.” Dennis frowns at Dee in faux guilt. “Man. I guess we can’t play.”

“That’s okay, I’ll bring a new one tomorrow.”

Dee tsks, watching Dennis with a repressed grin.  _ This was so easy.  _ “Well, Charlie that’s not really fair. The game is usually set up before everyone arrives, If you have to find a new game piece you’ll probably end up late and you know the rules; the game has to start early enough we can play it in a single day.”

“Oh…” Charlie taps the ring on the bar as he struggles to think. “Well, what if I got something tonight?”

“Oh, well.” Dennis leans closer to Charlie, feigning concern. “What do you have on you?”

Charlie doesn’t hesitate to dig into his pockets, retrieving nothing but lint and candy wrappers. 

Dennis hums then shakes his head. “No, sorry bud. You need something worth more than that.”

“Hm.” Charlie continues to search his pockets, and the Reynolds’ twins patiently wait for the idea to form in his own mind. It takes forever, but he finally gets there: “What about my ring?”

“Are you sure Charlie?” Dennis’s method is to ensure consent is given at least twice, before taking advantage. 

However, Dee is satisfied. “Sounds great!”

She holds out her hand, grinning as Charlie readily places it in her palm. There’s a moment where the rest of the bar watches Charlie watch Dee, examining the ring with a grin. 

Charlie’s own drunken smile begins to fall, and he begins to rethink what he’s just done. “On second thought I better not.”

When he reaches out to take the ring back, Dee pulls away. “Nope. Sorry, Charlie. The rules clearly state there are no takebacks in game pieces.”

“What rules?” He grapples for the ring again, and Dee flees further behind the bar. Out of reach. 

“The rule book Charlie,” Dennis assured. “One of the first rules we wrote was once a game piece is chosen, it can not be reclaimed until the game is completed.”

Charlie struggles to think as he looks around at the rest of the Gang. Frank is watching with only the barest of interest, and Mac has a pitying look on his face but says nothing. “Guys! Help me out here! I can’t use that as a game piece! Dennis and Dee will smash it!”

Mac squirms, glancing at Dennis before shrugging helplessly. “It’s the rules, Charlie.”

An inhuman sound escapes Charlie as he stumbles off his stool. The realization of what he’s just done fully settling. He lunges at Dee, but Dennis and Mac are able to drag him off the bar before he’s across. 

She’s unfazed as the two struggle to escort Charlie to the front door and shove him out. Locking the door behind him. “Guys! Guys! You can’t do this! What am I going to tell Doc?!”

But Dennis has already returned to the bar to give Dee a high five. It is possibly her most ingenious plan, and he’s never been prouder. 

Mac lingers by the door a long while. Listening as Charlie begs to be let back in, “Just to talk!” But he eventually gives up. Nobody knows where he goes, and frankly, they don’t really care. They suspect he’s going home to cry to Science Bitch, and they know for a fact he’ll be here tomorrow. Bright and early to be decimated in CharDee MacDennis. 

* * *

Dennis is grinning as he turns the card over to show Doc. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Doc is slow to respond. Still sullen from his emotional betrayal of Charles. He takes the card and reads it, feeling his heart sink. “Emotional Battery: Opponents Choice.”

Dennis laughs, giddy with the reveal. There is no way he can crack, and the solution to a tie is a coin toss (something Dennis has perfected to always land on heads). There’s not a chance in hell Science Bitch and Charlie can win their precious rings back now. 

“May I have five minutes to discuss this with Charles?” Science Bitch sways a little, looking resigned.

Unable to stop his grinning, Dennis nods. Why not? After all, their relationship is six feet deep after today. Might as well let Charlie have a proper goodbye. “Yeah, sure man. Five minutes.”

Doc is quick to navigate across the glass shards. 

The bathroom is a health inspector’s nightmare at best. At worst, it’s home to every known (and a few unknown) diseases in Philly. Doc is appalled at the state of it but perseveres. Careful to watch his step as he listens to Mac over Charlie’s sobs:

“—you’re going to hurt yourself! Stop it, dude!”

Another wail and a heavy thud against the stall door. “I want to die!”

Hesitating, Doc lingers by the door. He can hear Mac sigh, then a struggle as he fights Charlie for whatever is so dangerous. “Stop it! Give it to me, Charlie!”

“Fuck you!”

The stall door swings open, nearly hitting Doc, and the two men fall onto the floor. There isn’t much of a struggle. Charlie gives up easily, and Mac is quick to escape the grimy tiles.

Doc glances at the sock Mac’s holding victoriously in his hands, then at Charles on the floor. “What are you doing?”

Upon seeing Doc, Charlie curls in on himself to hide his face. But it’s too late; Doc can see it is red, wet, swollen from Doc’s heartless beratement, and covered in a thin layer of metallic paint. His shoulders are still shaking as he sobs and blathers into his hands. If they had more time, Doc would be tempted to try and offer what little comfort he could. As it was, his five-minute break was creeping to an end. He needed answers from someone in the Gang who could be reasoned with, if that was even possible.

“Dennis pulled an Emotional Battery card.”

Mac, still holding the mysterious sock, laughs despite the emotional mess left wailing on the floor. “Dude, you’re fucked.”

Doc scowls as he asks: “One of you must know something to get under the bastard's skin!”

Mac shrugs, stepping over Charlie’s rocking form to stand in front of Doc. “I might know something…”

“What?” Doc raised a single eyebrow, studying Mac sternly. 

Mac grins, tongue darting out as he glances over Doc’s lips. “I need something in return though.”

Instinctively, Doc steps back. Mac looks genuinely surprised by the sudden move, but goes on: “I want to be Charlie’s best man.”

“Excuse me?” Doc is admittedly relieved, but in shock by the accusation. “Charles and I— it’s not— we’re not actually engaged.”

“Whatever, man.” Mac mindlessly swings the sock, and Doc realizes whatever is inside it is heavy. And solid. And the metallic color on Charlie’s face makes horrifying sense. 

But, Mac is still talking while Doc’s eyes drift to Charlie’s huddled figure on the floor: “I just need you to promise that  _ I  _ get to be Charlie’s best man whenever you guys do get married. Not Dennis. Not Frank.  _ Me.” _

Doc frowns, unable to tear his eyes away from Charlie’s freckled back. Just how far was Charles willing to go? And was it safe to leave him under Mac’s supervision? They’ve been through so much, but  _ this  _ was hard to process. He should be dragging him out of Paddy’s and to a doctor. A proper doctor.

“You promise you’ll keep an eye on him?”

“What?” Mac turns to see what Doc is staring at. “Oh, Charlie? Yeah. Sure. Don't worry, he does this all the time.”

Mac is smiling at Doc, nonchalant about revealing this is a completely normal thing. Charlie, drunk, crying on the bathroom floor, and trying to kill himself by inhaling aerosol spray paint from a sock. Mac quickly backtracks when he realizes Doc is seriously concerned. “He’s fine don’t worry.”

Doc forces himself to look away and nod. “Alright. You can be his best man.”

“Really?” Mac laughs and gives a triumphant fist-pump. “Yes! Did you hear that Charlie?”

Charlie responded with another broken wail. Mac shrugs and grabs Doc by the shoulder before he has a chance to pull away from the unwanted touch. “Frank.”

Doc is weary as he tries to clarify: “Frank… what?”

“That’s how you break Dennis.”

Before he can ask for clarification, Paddy’s bathroom door swings open. “Time’s up, Science Bitch!”

Dennis seems confused for a moment. His eyes travel over Mac’s hand on Doc’s shoulder, then to Charlie’s crumpled form on the floor. It takes a moment for his words to slur out: “You guys having another foursome? Without me?” The final bit sounds genuinely hurt, and ZDoc is quick to shove Mac’s hand away.

“No, we were discussing your card.”

“Oh?” Dennis leans against the doorframe, smug in his belief there is no way for him to lose. “If you want I can make Mac cry. No problem.’

Doc is quick to interject before the two start fighting: “Frank. I want Frank to berate you.”

He has to glance at Mac to make sure that is what he meant, and is relieved when he gives a reassuring nod.

Dennis laughs, “Okay.” It seems genuine on the surface, but Doc recognizes the way it sounds a little too eager. His pale grin unable to reach his eyes. Dennis is shrugging as he forces himself upright. “Dee and I are going to enjoy those rings.”

Doc pursues his lips as he trails after Dennis. “We’ll see.”

“Frank!” Dennis is grinning as he heads towards the booth Frank is slumped over in. “Frank, wake up!”

Dennis slams his hand onto the table, jolting Frank awake. “Who won?”

“Final card. You, me, back office. Emotional battery.”

Dennis doesn’t wait for an answer, and Doc is quick to stop Frank before he can follow. “Can you do it?”

Frank scowls as he rubs his balding head. “What am I doing?”

“I need you to hurt him. To make that bastard show even the slightest hint of emotion. Please, Frank. I’m begging you.”

Franks laughs as he shakes his head, glancing to the office where Dennis is waiting. “You want me to emotionally terrorize the boy I raised?”

Doc suddenly feels guilty for having suggested it, but Frank is quick to assure: “No problem!”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frank shrugs easily. “But I want some guarantees here.”

“Anything!”

“I want to spend more time with Charlie. He hangs out at your place way too often. A couple of days a week is all.”

Doc is hesitant but nods frantically. “Fine.”

“I also want to be his best man. Not Mac. Especially not Dennis. But  _ me.” _

Doc nearly spits out he’s just promised the same thing to Mac, but decides it’s best to deal with one dilemma at a time; salvaging his relationship, a proper engagement, then  _ maybe _ wedding plans. He is desperate, and that is a  _ later _ problem. “Of course.”

Frank’s smile reveals his stubby teeth, and Doc is inclined not to trust it. It’s clear that despite a lack of genetics, the Reynolds all share the same, smug grins. “I also want whatever money you have on you right now.”

Doc scowls but is quick to retrieve his wallet. “I’m afraid I don’t have any money. Dee collected everything we had in Level two.”

Frank grumbles as he peers inside the wallet, then points to a worn card in the front. “What’s this?”

“A coffee punch card for—.”

“I’ll take it.” Before Doc can argue, Frank has snatched it. Waddling eagerly away towards the office. Doc, who has never been religious, prays that all this has been worth it.

The office door of Paddy’s Pub shuts. Leaving Doc standing alone with the distant screams of Dee and the hysterical sobs of Charlie. 

Regret slowly settles in his pit. 

They could win. By some divine intervention, Frank could crack Dennis. Their rings could be returned unharmed. But, Doc feared the damage may be irreversible. Even worse, they could lose. Dennis could win that final card and then it’s down to nothing more than a coin-toss. And if Doc lost… if he lost Charles.

He had to sit down.

Finding his way to the bar he helped himself to an unattended beer. It was flat and warm, but better than nothing to leave his hands unoccupied. He couldn’t bear the thought of them left empty. Unable to return to Charles until he knew the answer of their victory (and God knows how long it will take Frank). Doc sighed, then took a long sip as he listened to Dee’s pounding on the door. Desperate to focus on her rather than Charles’s anguish. Yet, it strikes him as odd that he can’t hear Frank or Dennis in the office a mere three meters away. 

He collects his adopted beer and gingerly navigates through the glittering remnants of bottles and glasses, attempting to make very little noise as he approaches the door. There are no screams or insults. Only the soft murmur of Frank’s voice beyond the door. Undecipherable amongst the other overwhelming screams in the vicinity. Then, footsteps. 

Doc jumps back as the office door swings open, Dennis’s eyes wild as he strides wordlessly past Doc.

“Dennis?” Doc asks, though he struggles to muster any concern for the bastard. 

Dennis doesn’t slow as he walks through the sparkling floor, past the bar, and unlocks Paddy’s door. 

They can hear Dee, unseen, call out: “Dennis? Dennis, did we win?”

He doesn’t answer as he leaves. Paddy’s Pub’s door swings shut with a loud bang, and the bar has suddenly gone very silent. A hope bubbles up in Doc’s chest as he looks into the office.

Frank is sitting at the desk, grinning. 

“Charles!” In his excitement, Doc throws his beer to the floor.

“Charles!” He repeats as he runs through crunching glass to the game board, plucking their rings from the Level Three sphere. 

He turns to run into the bathroom, then turns again to grab Team Golden Geese’s Barbie and Ken. “Frank!”

Frank waddles out of the office and Doc unceremoniously throws the dolls vaguely in his direction. “You can destroy them, if you like!”

Doc doesn’t wait for a response as he turns again, the room spinning dangerously in his drunken joy, and high-tails it into Paddy’s bathroom.

“Charles!”

Charlie is no longer on the floor in the center of the bathroom. Doc throws open the first stall, then the second. Going down the row like this until he reaches the final one. Charlie, curled between the filthy toilet and graffitied wall, jumps at the loud sound. But Doc is too overjoyed to apologize. Instead, he crouches down to join him in that disgusting place. Beaming as he holds the rings out to prove they were now returned. “We’ve won!” 

Charlie’s face shows no reaction. His sobs have dried out, and the apathetic high he is left with does nothing to spark joy.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Doc’s heart sinks as Charlie stares past him. Eyes glazed over as paint dries on his chin. Leaving the skin looking cracked and flakey. “Chales, I’m so sorry—”

“Sorry?” Charlie repeats. He doesn’t meet his eyes. “Sorry for what Doc? Sorry you ever met me?”

Doc shakes his head, trying desperately to blink back his own tears. He’s absolutely pissed; too drunk to even properly convey any coherent thought.

“I’m sorry…” he tries again. “I’m so, so very sorry Charles.”

When those glazed eyes meet him, he can’t help it. He’s overridden with the guilt of having spoken such abuses. Of falling into the madness of the Gang. Distraught that now, Charles could very well leave him. And Doc would deserve it. His body betrayed him as he tried to form words between sobs: “Charles, I’m so sorry.” 

Something takes his hand, and when he looks up Charlie is still there. His fingers, coated with silver paint, are placed atop his palm. Staining the little gold rings.

“You mean that?” Charlie slurs, his dilated pupils struggling to focus on Doc alone.

Doc nods frantically, and scoots forward. Crushing Charlie’s knees and entrapping him further in his tiny space beside the plumbing. “I want to marry you.”

Charlie’s silver lips split into an excited grin as his head lulls back. Hitting the wall with a painful thud. “Really? For real?”

Doc is nodding, still crying, and now laughing. “Absolutely.”

Charlie plucks one of the rings from his palm. “Hell yeah, man.”

Doc helps him slide it on his hand, then leans forward to press a kiss on silver lips. It’s cramped, disgusting, and perhaps the best moment of his life.

As Charlie traces fingers down Doc’s neck, a new voice interjects: “That is so sweet!”

Doc scowls, pulling away as Charlie giggles at nothing particularly funny. Beside them, the partition above the glory hole was open. Revealing Mac, brown eyes watching the two in delight.

Doc clears his throat as he scoots back, allowing Charlie to crawl free.

“Never ask me to play this game again.”

“I told you you’d hate it."

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, these boys need a happy ending. Consider it a self-indulgent piece.


End file.
